


Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Wizard

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Study in Pink, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Fusion, Gen, I'll add more characters as I think of them, except that this one is rewritten, ugh the other one needed some serious editing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:24:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is at Hogwarts for the first time. His first year there, students start dropping like flies.... Which is better than he ever could have expected.





	1. A Study in Pink: The Sorting

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock's deductions about his house belong to an artist. I've looked all over the place, but I can't find the artist! The best I found was a link to a pin, which is.... Frustrating. I would like to credit them, so if anyone knows who it is, please tell me! ^_^ 
> 
> https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/552816923003460561/

_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_  
_But don't judge on what you see,_  
_I'll eat myself if you can find_  
_A smarter hat then me._  
_You can keep your bowlers black,_  
_Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For_ _I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So_ _try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry,_  
_Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or_ _yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_  
_If you've a ready mind,_  
_Where those of wit and learning,_  
_Will always find their kind;_  
_Or perhaps in Slytherin,_  
_Where you'll meet your real_ friends,  
 _Those cunning folk use any means,  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)_  
_For a Thinking Cap."_  
  
Sherlock yawned as the sorting hat finished its annual poem. He was waiting in line with the other first years, none of which were talking to him. It was quite wonderful not to have any annoying nattering by his ear. Scare tactics were quite good apparently, and word had spread quickly about him on the train. All it took was reducing another first year to tears and he'd gotten a whole compartment to himself.

Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently as the Professor started calling out names. He wanted to get this over with and learn as much magic as possible, stealing Mycroft's books at home had been terribly cumbersome, especially when he was got caught by Mummy and she'd threatened to have him assist Mycroft in his potions making. Of course, avoiding Myc probably would help him in sneaking into the restricted section of the library.  
  
A small brunette girl with large eyes and a knitted cat sweater under her robes, stepped forward nervously to the sorting hat. He cringed as it was placed atop her head. It slipped over her eyes as it was far to big for her. He wondered who made it and, considering they hadn't designed it for the children they were sorting, they must've been very stupid.  
  
"Hufflepuff." Said Sherlock, examining his nails. The pigheaded boy behind him that he had met on the train scowled.  
  
The boy was obnoxious, thin as a beanpole with a large nose and floppy brown hair, "How would you know that? You've never even met Molly before."  
  
"The same way I know that you fancy that twit, Donovan."  
  
Anderson clenched his fists and pointedly looked away as the sorting hat bellowed, "Hufflepuff!" The girl shakily climbed down and fled to a seat on the long crowded bench, she was accompanied by cheers from the Hufflepuff table the whole way.  
  
Sherlock stepped forward, it was his turn now. He climbed up and his unusually tall figure was able to keep the sorting hat from obscuring his face completely.  
  
" _Hmm, yes... A TRICKY one.... verrrrry tricky._ " It mumbled into his ear.  
  
Sherlock snorted.  
  
" _Oh, you have something to say?_ " The hat asked cheekily. If a hat could even have cheek.  
  
Sherlock grinned, sensing that this hat wasn't as clever as it thought it was, " _Tricky? Don't be ridiculous._ "  
  
He crossed his arms and began, " _Gryffindors are meant to be chivalrous and you can see that I have no use for MANNERS or TRADITION. Slytherin is odious and vile and Magnussen was their golden child, he was my mother's worst enemy. You can't put me there. Hufflepuff values hard work and patience, and I am interested in neither of those- I only care about my mind and what I can do with it, which brings me to my obvious conclusion: Ravenclaw._ "  
  
It's faint amusement had melted away during his inner speech until there was merely a quiet hum in the background. The sorting hat did not speak or react for a full minute before it shouted grudgingly, "Ravenclaw!"  
  
Sherlock allowed himself a smug smile as he scooted off the stool, wild hair even more stuck up after its time under the hat. His fellow Ravenclaws cheered him as he made his way to their table. He took care to position himself as far away from his brother, Mycroft, as possible.  
  
Sherlock did not pay much attention to the rest of the sorting except when he mumbled his deductions and his classmates were astounded and, a few, angered when he turned his intellect on them. Mycroft's disapproving looks only made him stick out his tongue at him and then tell the girl next to him that her mother was cheating on her father.   
  
Anderson and that girl, Donovan were sorted into Hufflepuff and Slytherin respectively, as he suspected. A boy with dark, almost black, brown hair took his seat beside Anderson at the black and yellow clad table. The house colors always bothered him, all of those students looked like overgrown bumblebees.   
  
Sherlock knew with a glance that Donovan and Anderson were purebloods and that the dark-haired boy, Lestrade (he had heard Donovan call him that earlier) was a muggleborn.  
  
Another boy, he did not recognize with sandy blond hair was the only other person he bothered to note. The boy was not eleven as all first years were, he was thirteen. Obviously presumed a muggle like his (obviously, dead) muggle parents until his latent talents with magic were shown.  
  
Sherlock muttered, "Gryffindor." The sorting hat confirmed his deduction almost before it touched the boys head.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!" It bellowed twice as loud as usual. The boy did not jump even though almost half the room did. He scrambled off the seat and trotted over to the red and gold clothed table, trying to get out of view of the crowd.  
  
After that Gryffindor, there was a skinny and sickly pale black-haired boy with an instant shout of "Slytherin!"  
  
Sherlock was throughly glad when the banquet ended and he was escorted to the Ravenclaw boys dormitory. He knew where it was, since he'd studied maps of Hogwarts religiously, and would've preferred to go himself, but unfortunately that wasn't allowed and the prefects watched them like hawks, thoroughly preventing any escape. The other disadvantage of the short walk was the grating mundane babbling of his classmates and Mycroft escorting them pompously down the corridor.  
  
Sherlock resented the fact that Mycroft was a seventh year prefect, so he could look his nose down at the younger years. Luckily, Mycroft graduated this year so he would not have to endure his elder brother's quips for too long.  
  
Scratch that, anytime spent with Mycroft was too much to bear.  
  
Unfortunately, Mycroft had already secured himself a place in the Ministry of Magic as soon as he graduated. Mycroft- with his advantageous pureblood status and (Sherlock grudgingly admitted) smarts- would probably reach the position of Minister by the time he reached twenty.  
  
Sherlock scowled at this thought and muttered to a older brown-haired girl next to him, "Your name isn't Anthea." The girl started and rushed ahead.  
  
Sherlock smiled. He would like it here.


	2. A Study in Pink: Potions Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Watson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I changed a few things. Double potions class is now Slytherin-Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw-Gryffindor for the sake of the story.

Professor Shan smiled poisonously and gave her usual, "Good morning, class. " Sherlock opened his book and studied the potion they were to do today, 'the Draught of Living Death', closely.

Sherlock had developed quite a reputation in his first week at Hogwarts. Everyone studiously avoided him like the plague. It pleased Sherlock and he continued to work alone at his desk: no bumbling idiots to get in his way.

Sherlock held back a groan as they reviewed the information, he knew all of this already. Finally though, review was over and he took out his asphodel root and infusion of wormwood. Professor Shan was finally letting them create their first potion.

A boy rushed into the classroom with his bags banging on his hip. Sherlock glanced up surreptitiously from his cauldron where he was slowly and meticulously grinding his asphodel root into powder. He had already added the infusion of wormwood.

The boy spotted Sherlock's otherwise empty table and hurried quietly over to it, keeping his head down.

Shan glanced up and said, "John Watson, you're late. Five points from Gryffindor."

A few Gryffindors scowled but a well-rounded boy (Mike Stamford?) waved to Watson and Watson smiled wearily back.

The blond boy gently placed his things next to Sherlock's before he pulled out his cauldron. Sherlock held out his hand and asked in hushed tones, "May I borrow your potions book?"

Watson looked up, "What?"

"Your potions book. I need to check something." Watson handed it over warily.

Sherlock flipped through it and then handed it back before asking quietly, never looking up from his cauldron, "Massanutten or Missouri?"

"E- excuse me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, his thin shoulders moving with them under his dark robes, "You were sent to a military camp in America. Was it the Missouri Military Academy or the Massanutten Military Academy?"

The boy blinked, eyes wide and astonished, "M- Missouri."

Sherlock smirked as he added his root to the bubbling liquid. He loved being right.

Watson prepared his infusion of wormwood and added it before speaking again, "How did you do that?"

"I know that you went to a military academy in America, I that you're an orphan who's father used to be in the military. I also know he was abusive after he returned from the war, and that your mother died of cancer. I know that you wanted to be in the military before you discovered your magic and you desire to be an Auror now that you have magic. I know that you've got a brother you had to leave behind in the orphanage, I assume you have been in contact with him. I know that you fell down the stairs this morning and twisted your ankle, but you haven't had the time to go see someone about it."

Watson gaped, eyes wide as he adjusted his position to keep off his leg. Professor Shan, however, had noticed them whispering, "Holmes! Watson! Stop that chattering or you'll get detention! Another five points from Gryffindor and five points from Ravenclaw."

Sherlock added his root to the slightly lavender colored potion.

Watson started cutting his own root methodically and he added it to his cauldron, before whispering as quietly as he could, "How on Ear- How in Merlin's beard did you do that?"

Sherlock only smirked as he stirred his potion twice clockwise and added his sloth brain.

* * *

 

Sherlock poured a tar black potion into his flask before he stepped forward to Shan's desk and handed it to the black-haired professor.

Shan raised her thin eyebrows in, and if Sherlock had been less of a genius- he wouldn't have been able to detect it, an emotion called surprise.

"Holmes."

"Professor." Sherlock nodded back before he returned to his desk. Watson had, surprisingly enough, produced a decent potion. Sherlock estimated, if it had been a test, an A or a P. Perhaps an O if Shan was feeling generous, which she never was.

As the students flooded the corridor, Sherlock was surprised to see Watson chase after him and ask, "How did you do that.... Thing, by the way?"

Sherlock grinned, he did love showing off.

"You're limping, when you weren't before on the first day, and late to class. Ergo, you've done something clumsy and hurt yourself, that boy Stamford seemed concerned when he saw you walking strangely which means it's a fairly new injury. That's why you were late to class, but you didn't want to upset Professor Shan so you skipped fixing it until afterwards. You've also got a trace of American twang to your speech- that indicates some time in America, also, you've a tan on your hands that stops at your wrists. Obviously, you've been somewhere sunny, but you haven't been sunbathing. Abroad in America, in the summer. But, why a military academy? You are more muscular then most teens of your age and you've got a military step and stance. It must've been military. I know you had an abusive father since you flinch away from almost anybody near you and have been acclimatized to loud noises such as yelling. Your mother... Well, you're an orphan obviously by the way everything is second hand and in the station, no one came to see you off. I know you desire to be an Auror because of notes in your book... Notes on potions and Defense against the Dark Arts and about how they're important to the future. I also know about your brother because in the front of your potions book it said 'With love from Harry.' I know you don't want to take after your father in the military- more because you want to protect other people- sentiment gets in the way. Of course, the two least expensive military academies in America are Massanutten and Missouri."

Watson shook his head. "Wow. That is... Amazing."

Sherlock jerked his head sideways. "What?"

"It was amazing- brilliant."

"Really? That's not what people usually say."

"What do they usually say?"

Sherlock knew there were no teachers around, so he shrugged and spoke with annoyance as they trotted up the old stone steps, "Piss off."

Watson smiled and Sherlock gave one of his own back before asking, "Did I get anything wrong?"

"Well... Harry's my sister."

Sherlock groaned, "There's always something!"

Watson just grinned as they made their way to transfiguration.


	3. A Study in Pink: The First Victim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! :D and thank you for reminding me! ^_^

Two months and it was November, John and Sherlock were unbelievably inseparable. Many at the school of witchcraft and wizardry were surprised at the bond as thick as brothers that now stretched between the two wizards.

John was a humble and friendly Gryffindor and Sherlock was a upstart and imposing Ravenclaw. John was a first year that was two years elder to Sherlock and they still got along fine. Sherlock though, had always been more intelligent then a seventh year (if he was mature as they were was the question.) They were almost polar opposites and yet they balanced each other out perfectly. No one could argue against that.

As Greg Lestrade, a man everyone knew was destined for the roll of prefect, said, "John cleans up after him. He's his mum."

Of course, he had said that to the other two students who hung around with him. Sally Donovan (Slytherin) and Philip Anderson (Hufflepuff). Molly Hooper, also hung around with those three. She was a bit strange though.

Her father was mortician and she was quiet and mousy. Many of the teachers were uncomfortable with her unusual knowledge of dead bodies.

Sherlock found it fascinating. John found it disgusting, he was friends- if you could call it that- with Molly, he just did not approve of a girl of such a young age being exposed to so much death and dare he say, gore before she had even reached her teen years.

But, while the relationship of Sherlock and John was fascinating, the victims in the school were most interesting.

It began when a sixth-year student was found right outside of the double potions corridor. Sherlock and John had stood in horror (well, John did. Sherlock seemed excited.) as the students crowded around them.

A first-year girl with bright red hair scratched the top of her head. "What... Happened?"

Sherlock crouched by the body and nodded before Shan swept out of the classroom and Professor Angelo advanced down the corridor.

"Alright, clear it up! Clear up!"

Shan shrieked, "Go to your next class, Herbology! Go on!"

The children scurried off like frightened mice. John followed Sherlock and whispered, "What is it? What did you find?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "Why do you think I've found anything?"

"You've got that look!"

Sherlock smirked and began, "Sixth-year Slytherin student, Romulus McKellan, but he's not dead. He self-administered the potion, 'the Draught of Living Death'. The teachers will fix him up right away. It will be a very long recovery though. He'll be lucky to be fully back before the school year is over and he'll probably be sent to St. Mungo's for the majority of that time. He was probably just a student trying to get attention. He was cheating on his Slytherin girlfriend with a Hufflepuff. The thing that doesn't add up is his specialty is Arithmancy not Potions. In fact, he doesn't have much experience so the draught of living death would have been world's harder."

Sherlock's eyes squinted in his usual, 'I'm thinking' pose. All he needed now was a chair and his hands would be in that sort of prayer-thinking position of his.

John waited patiently in the corridors before Sherlock finally snapped his fingers. "That's it!"

"What's it?"

"Can't you see it?"

John crossed his arms and signed as he followed Sherlock out of the castle and across the grounds to the herbology houses. "Please explain to us ordinary muggleborn!"

"He didn't make it himself, I'll bet anything that someone made it for him, but he doesn't have the jar on him."

John pushed open the door to Professor Bart's room. They were early. The two hastened to a spot together as other children began to pour in murmuring excitedly.

John placed his books on the ground and spoke in a whisper, "Maybe they were forced to take it?"

Sherlock started and then smacked his head. "Oh, I am so stupid! You're a genius, John! I mean, more then normal... But still pretty stupid- but don't worry everyone's stupid."

John sighed as Bart appeared and began talking in his baritone voice. It was the best compliment he had received from Sherlock so far. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it's short. I didn't have as much time to edit it as I usually would. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I mean no disrespect to Hufflepuffs, ya'll are great. Sherlock, however, is a different matter. :P


End file.
